Halo: Hold the Line
by GrungierNine0
Summary: On a far-flung colony world, the Innies have the UNSC and thousands of refugees pinned. They must run, or die. The Battle of Tuerig has begun.


The city of New Berlin was burning brightly, spires of steel and glass cracked and splintered in the grey sky. On the banks of the nearby Teurig River, thousands of civilians had come here after all bridges out of the city had been destroyed by Insurrectionists, the UNSC forces there, under the command of Colonel Alexander Rammage, waited nervously for news.

Rammage stood at the forward security base, waiting for the scouts he had sent into the city. While normally he'd have gotten intelligence from a ship in orbit, the ship had been destroyed by a freighter loaded with explosives. Now he relied on warthogs sent to watch the enemy.

On the other side of the wide river sat the planet's main spaceport, but the only way to get the thousands of civilians out of the war zone was to hold the line while the Innies closed the vice on all sides.

Down the road, he could make out a warthog . He hoped to every god under the Sun that it was the scouts. The civilians he was charged with protecting were made up of many of his comrades families. Including his own wife and not yet born child.

His thoughts were interrupted by the small radio in his helmet,

"Sir, the scouts are back."

"How many of them, Jones?"

"...I'm only seeing one Warthog, sir."

"Shit. Thank you, Jones."

The warthog was one of the troop-carrier types, two soldiers were in the front seats. In the back, two medics tended to one with bloody bandages wrapped around his head. The warthog sped through the impromptu gates, spitting up muddy water.

Rammage sprinted to the tent marked "HOSPITAL" and wired while the medics moved the wounded man onto a stretcher. The driver, little more than 18 by the looks of him, saluted as best he could manage.

"What happened to the other two warthogs, soldier?"

The soldier glanced to the wounded man being carried away,

"They got hit by a roadside bomb on the way back. Keith over there got hit with some debris, right along his temple I think."

Rammage nodded, "How many Innies?"

Bowing of the head, ever so slightly, "Fifty thousand."

Rammage looked around, he only had a little more than 10,000 troops at his call, made up of locals and a few Marines and ODST's. They'd need to move. And fast.

"Thank you, you did good."

The young man walked away to find his wounded friend. _What in Christ's name would they do?_ Rammage thought. His troops, though well trained, were weary and running low on supplies. While the Innies were fanatical, ready and willing to fight, and had superior numbers.

He radioed his liaison with the local defense forces, a Sergeant Timothy Becker,

"Becker, how much time would it take to get everyone ready to cross the river?"

Slight pause, then the Sergeant's thick voice,

"About six hours sir, why, what are you plannin'?"

"We need to move, fifty thousand Innies are about to hit us hard. Do you copy?"

"Fuckin' hell...alright, I'll get the ball rolling."

Rammage thought for a moment, "Becker, do it in two hours, I've got a feeling the Innies aren't gonna wait."

Becker didn't acknowledge, but Rammage knew that man would do what he was told. He flicked the radio over to broadcast to the command center.

"Get me Allen."

Allen was the man everybody went to if they needed the refugees to act.

"Yeah?"

"Listen, we haven't got a lot of time here, but I need you to rouse every man you can. We need every hand you can spare."

"The Innies advancing?"

"Fifty thousand."

"Piss. I'll get any volunteer I can, and get the refugees ready to move. We crossing the river?"

"Yep. Could you do something for me? I want to pass a message along to my wife."

Allen shouted something to someone else, "What's her name?"

"Lori Rammage."

The other man Allen had been shouted to shouted back, "Tell her that I love her, and that I'll be safe."

Allen said, "Yes sir, I'll deliver the message my self."

The line went dead and Rammage looked to the men around him, and then to the gently sloping hills nearby. The Innies would have to fight through 10,000 of the best men the UNSC had to offer before they would get to his wife and the thousands of other refugees.

Across the river laid the chance to flee, to find life. On this side, death and ruin. Alexander Rammage looked to the skies, but the oppressive grey mixed with black smoke offered no solace.

The next 12 hours would be a battle worth remembering, and for many it would be their last. But the UNSC had to succeed, they had to Hold The Line.

(New story FTW! I know it's short, but first chapters always are. As always, favorite, follow, and have a great day (or night) Da Svidaniya!)


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